


Handle With Care

by CypressSunn



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24138448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CypressSunn/pseuds/CypressSunn
Summary: “Y’know, if someone had told me this morning we were going to ruin our entire relationship over a blowjob, I would have laughed my ass off.”
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 581
Collections: 101 Prompts Meme





	Handle With Care

**Author's Note:**

> 101 Prompt #93: Intense.  
> Warnings: mentions of unsafe sexual practices, none of which is depicted or occurring between Eddie and Buck.
> 
> Author's Note #1:  
> Not to sound like your friendly neighborhood PSA, but any and all sex can be made safe or unsafe. Safety is never in the act, but in the actions of participants.  
> Happy reading.

**DISPATCHER:** 911, WHAT’S YOUR EMERGENCY?

 **CALLER:** YEAH, I’M AT 1050 CANNERY ST. COULD YOU SEND SOMEONE? THIS GUY I AM WITH… HE, UM, HE CAN’T BREATHE RIGHT. 

**DISPATCHER:** PARAMEDICS ARE IN ROUTE. NOW CAN YOU TELL ME IS HE ALERT? CAN HE TALK? 

**CALLER:** YEAH, HE’S AWAKE. AND HE CAN KIND OF TALK, BUT NOT REALLY.

 **DISPATCHER:** IS THERE AN OBSTRUCTION IN HIS AIRWAY?

 **CALLER:** SORTA, BEFORE, BUT NOT ANYMORE. NOW HE’S JUST GASPING.

 **DISPATCHER:** SOMETIMES AN OBSTRUCTION DOESN’T CLEAR ENTIRELY OR LEAVES PIECES BEHIND. CAN YOU TELL ME WHAT WAS HE EATING?

 **CALLER:** SO HE WASN’T REALLY— HE WASN’T EATING.

 **DISPATCHER:** THEN CAN YOU TELL ME WHAT WAS HE CHOKING ON?

 **CALLER:** [SILENCE, FOLLOWED BY RAPID UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH] 

**DISPATCHER:** SIR, PLEASE SPEAK UP.

 **CALLER:** I SAID, HE WAS CHOKING ON MY ********.

 **DISPATCHER:** … HELP IS ON THE WAY.

* * *

“I have so many questions,” Buck says, rubbing his hands together. 

Eddie can see Bobby grimace from where he stands to give Hen and Chimney room to work with their increasingly distressed patient. “If they aren’t medical or rescue related, I will fire you on the spot.”

“I have only one question,” he revises, a single finger raised in emphasis.

“Don’t mind him,” Eddie tells the patient, giving Buck _a look_. “How long has it been since your symptoms started?” 

But it’s Eddie that the red-faced young man ignores from where he lay on the floor, the same way he had ignored Hen and Chim, dodging all of their questions and refusing hospital transport. Instead, he raises his O2 mask ever so slightly, wheezing at Buck: “Yeah, he really is ten inches.”

Buck nods appreciatively. “Not what I was going to ask, but good to know.”

The patient coughs, or at least Eddie thinks it's a cough before he smilingly complains, “laughing hurts.”

“Just breathe,” Buck says, kneeling down. The injured man seems to relax slightly, finally taking deeper breaths when instructed to. It’s the first time the patient has been at all receptive to their care, looking less embarrassed, more at ease. With a roll of her eyes that the patient can’t see, Hen gets up and Chimney rolls his eyes.

“Buck,” warns Bobby, but the firefighter will not be deterred.

“Bobby, I got this. I am the epitome of professionalism.”

“You don’t know what that word means,” Chimney doubts. Eddie is inclined to agree but says nothing, keeping steady eyes on Buck and holding the O2 mask close to the patient.

“Watch me,” Buck swears, before turning back to the victim. “So, deepthroating?” 

The squad collectively groans.

“Don’t listen to them,” Buck assures him. “There’s nothing wrong with a hard-earned sex injury. Happens to the best of us.”

The victim nods. Slow at first and then confident of himself. 

“I’m Buck, and you are?”

“David.”

“So, David, did the pain start during or after?” Buck asks again, relaxed and natural. Met with more ease, he turns a flashlight on into David’s mouth, shining a light on the red aggravated throat. 

Buck isn’t a paramedic; he knows it, they all know it, but David doesn’t. Buck doesn’t have the training to do more than guess at the injury he’s looking at but that’s not his goal. He’s going through the motions, making a show for the patient who is finally calm, finally listening. And while Eddie may not always like it, and hell, the Cap may never like it, Buck’s candor does have a way of putting people at ease.

“Is the first time you’ve experienced this level of discomfort?” 

David takes his time before shaking his head. “Sometimes, if I wait, the pain goes away… It’s never been this bad before—”

“Hey, Dave, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Buck soothes. “Thanks for telling me, the more honest you are, the easier this will be with your doctors. And yes, you do have to go to the Emergency Room.” Sitting back on his haunches, Buck gestures over to the real paramedics. “Now, my friend over there, his name is Chimney. He thinks you have an aggravated airway. That’s just a theory, someone with a medical degree will have to diagnose that. But my pal knows his stuff and if he says it’s serious, then it is. And I know it sucks, explaining this all to straight guys with grouchy ‘wait till you’re married’ faces—”

Buck hikes him thumb over his shoulder, directly at the Captain. David laughs again, then hisses from the strain. But he relents softly and says, “yeah, take me to the hospital.”

“Excellent,” Buck claps his hands together, bounding up.

“Wait,” Eddie says, putting a halting hand over the patient. He knows no one likes the question he has to ask next, no matter the answer. Gentle as he can, he tries to affect some of Buck’s open nonchalance when he leans in closer to the patient. “Okay, one last thing, and remember your boyfriend is standing in the hall and he cannot hear you right now… When the pain started and you asked him to stop, did he _stop_?”

The next moment of pause sets Eddie’s teeth on edge. Bobby’s got his hands on his radio, ready to call it in if needs be.

“Yes,” David swears firmly. “He stopped.”

It’s the best Eddie can hope for, so he doesn’t press. “Good. Let’s roll out.”

Bobby lets Buck take the lead on loading up the patient. It’s for the best it seems; no matter how unconventional his methods the kid really likes Buck.

“Could he come with?” the patient asks through the O2 mask as they roll out into the hall. The supposed boyfriend shuffles off to the side as they pass.

Buck hesitates. “We don’t normally let non-family ride along but if your boyfriend wants to maybe—”

“We’re not dating. We only hookup every now and again,” the guy says looking them up and down. At first Eddie thinks he’s got a cornered look in his eye, put on the spot by his all-too casual bedmate. But his eyes linger on Buck a little too long. He ignores David completely. “But I could come along anyway.”

David visibly deflates. Which is quite impressive considering his continued breathing difficulties. A red-faced humiliation falls over his features again and that’s when Eddie snaps.

“Sorry,” Eddie cuts in, sharp-toned. “The ambulance is full.”

* * *

After the call, there’s a quiet stretch. Cap disappears to cook a meal and Chimney makes an obscene joke about fellatio and Hen, bless her heart, calls him out on it. Buck would be in the thick of it, making a nuisance of himself if he weren’t being read the riot act by Chief Alonzo. Taking selfies with a wounded patient at hospital drop off was unbecoming of the shield and the uniform, no matter how hard the patient pleaded for one.

Eddie, on the other hand, thinks he can fit in a light workout. Glove up and take shots at a sandbag to let off some of the steam he felt building; the pressure in his gut stifled by his mother’s good manners and his father’s discipline. Eddie paces himself at first, one strike and then the next. Center, center, left, right, left, right. Shot after shot until sweat simmers over his skin. He pushes air into his lungs and it comes back out a growl. All he can hear is pounding, the rattle of ranckling chains. Eddie sees that idiot’s smug face. Center, center, left, right. He’s leaning against the hallway wall, bored and inconvenienced at best. Center, center, left, right again. Doesn’t even ask how the kid is doing, indifferent to the pain he caused and Eddie’s form goes messy as his first surge against the bag.

“Easy there, Rambo,” Buck says coming up from behind the free weights. He’s got his hands in his pockets and an appreciative look on his face.

Eddie catches the swaying bag with his hands. “Wait, was that a reference from the ‘eighties?”

“Maybe?” Buck dares.

“Somewhere in the station right now, Chimney is proud.” Eddie slips his gloves off and tosses them to Buck. Buck pretends to glove up and mimes an uppercut at Eddie.

“You think I don’t know boxing movies?”

Eddie sighs into a grin he can’t fight down. “And just like that, Chimney’s disappointed again. Rambo was a _war vet_ . Rocky was the _boxer_.” Buck looks confused, trying to seperate the two in his mind. He could be so clueless about the most pointless things. Eddie had long since given into the charm of it. “Both are Sylvester Stalone, so points for trying.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Buck waves him off, trotting behind as Eddie turns to the changing rooms. Eddie could use a shower; three quarters into a non-stop twenty-four hour shift had done little for his hygiene even before his training session. On the other hand Buck smells just fine, loiters against the tiled walls where he makes no secret of watching Eddie undress.

“So, are we gonna talk about why you were wailing on the bag out there?” Buck says, interrupting Eddie’s train of thought.

“You know Rocky was from Philly, right?” Eddie deflects, peeling off his undershirt. “Shouldn’t a good son of Pennsylvania know that?”

“First of all, I’m from Boston,” Buck protests with an indignant finger in Eddie’s face. It’s cute, Eddie realizes. Why is it always so cute? 

“Didn’t you grow up in some place called Hershey?”

“Not the point— I was born in Boston, and in case you didn’t know Philadelphia is pretty much the worst place on earth.”

Eddie grins. “Yeah, and people from Dallas say the same thing about Austen and vice versa.”

Buck furrows his brow. “But you’re from El Paso.”

Eddie wants to make a retort but can’t risk letting a word out. Not unless he wants to give himself away more than he already has. Because of all the little extraneous details that Buck ignores, from pop culture and even to common sense, he never forgets anything he’s learned about Eddie.

“Also, now that you’ve tried distracting me,” Buck looks Eddie up and down under the stream of hot water, “let’s talk about what’s got you so angry.”

“I’m not angry.” Eddie lathers up.

“C’mon, you’ve been pissed off since the call.”

Eddie doesn’t like feeling transparent. Not with most people at least. It’s better to exercise restraint, reign in what others can know. But Buck is Buck. Clothed or undressed, Buck is the one who makes Eddie feel glassy and lit up, measured and discernable. Buck didn’t always know what he was looking at — be it war wound, hangup, guilt, upbringing, or yet another warwound — but he handled Eddie with patience and care and even more patience. It had been a big part of why the first time had taken so long. Drawing Buck any closer felt like relinquishing some plausible denial, forfeiting his only point of exit and egress.

“It was just a call like any other,” Eddie tries. Denial is an old faithful fallback. Even when he knows Buck won’t buy it.

“Except it really wasn’t. Between you and Bobby and your oh-so-serious faces and all those ‘delicate situations call for delicate handling’ speeches,” Buck’s deep-toned impersonation of their Captain is strangely apt, verging on well-rehearsed. Eddie wouldn’t put it past him. “Yeah, the vic was embarrassed but all dancing around it did was make it worse.”

“Not all of us can be so cavalier about sex,” Eddie reminds him. The steam from his shower has thickened the air and a fringe of blonde hair is stuck flush against Buck’s forehead, his black work shirt clings a little tighter. If they were anywhere else, Eddie would appreciate the view the same way Buck clearly is as Eddie towels off. But on the clock, on firehouse grounds, they both knew better. Or at least Eddie did. 

Sometimes it felt like that was his full time job; being the one who knew better. 

“Some of us like treating it with a little caution, a little weight. And yeah, some of us get a little pissed off when we’re rushed out on a call where a barely legal college freshman needs immediate medical care because his not-boyfriend thought it would be fun to try and pulverize his larynx.”

“So his choice in men leaves a little to be desired.” Buck doesn’t say ‘we all can’t be so lucky as me’ but it’s in his eyes, the ridiculous wiggle of his eyebrows when he rakes Eddie over with his eyes. “And maybe he could also brush up on his technique a little.”

Eddie makes a disgusted noise. “He shouldn’t be doing it all.”

“What, deepthroating? C’mon, Eddie,” Buck laughs. “It’s just sex.”

Eddie is pulling on his work pants he’d left folded near the sinks. “It’s unsafe.”

“Potentially accident prone,” Buck insists keenly like the accomplished provocateur he is. “But if you know what you’re getting into—”

Eddie cuts him off. “Are you serious right now?”

“One hundred percent. No risk, no reward.” Buck sways in close to Eddie, musses up his freshly laundered collar. Under normal circumstances, Eddie welcomes the intrusion along with the over-eager enthusiasm thrumming off of Buck. “Deepthroating is an art. Or, a marathon, not a sprint. You have to warm-up, swallow just right, go slow and steady. In fact,” Bucks voice lowers, “you let me show you. Your place, later tonight?”

Eddie chuckles, incredulous, even if he really, really shouldn’t be. This was Buck afterall. Eddie leans in, lips mere centimeters from Buck’s ear lobe. 

“Absolutely not.”

The sly smile slinks off of Buck’s face and all the steam floating in the air dissipates as Eddie pushes the door open to head back out into the fray of Station 118.

* * *

Eddie would usually let Buck down easier and give him more time to nurse his dampened excitement, but they are on chore duty together for the rest of the shift. Shoulder to shoulder in the muck and the after meal dishes unless that bell rings and the trucks roll out. Mopping at the station’s kitchen counters, Eddie’s never prayed harder for a fire, for a head-on collision, hell, even a cat up a tree will do. Anything to spare him from Buck’s clearly wounded pride. No one it seems has ever turned him down any form of offered up sexual congress. Buck simply could not let it stand.

“All I am saying is we can go back and forth on this forever,” Buck whispers low and casual while he stacks rinsed dishes, “or we can cut to the good part where you let me get down on my knees and I blow your mind. Pardon the pun.”

“I don’t pardon anything you just said,” Eddie groans. The mental image is… tempting. Buck always looked good from that vantage; below Eddie, eyes waist level, tilted up and blinking looking through his lashes. That smile when he feels the first pull on his hair. Eddie shakes the image loose. “Now drop it.”

In truth, he loves most things about sex with Buck. No strings, playful, verging on ridiculous. The other night Buck was determined to prove he could ride Eddie with no hands, somehow defying physics. But this was something else.

“Why are you so against this?” Buck presses, not dropping the matter at all. “It’s not like I haven’t had your dick in my mouth before.”

Plates slip from Eddie’s grip and clatter into the sink. Bobby gives Eddie a stern look as a warning from all the way across the station.

“Your _mouth_ , Buck,” hisses Eddie. “Not your throat and nowhere near your windpipe.”

“Same difference,” Buck protests and Eddie’s patience runs out.

“No it isn’t. Do I need to get a paramedic down here to explain your airway to you?” 

Buck grins cheekily, calls Eddie’s bluff. “Only if you let me tell you how long I can hold my breath.”

Eddie rubs at his temples for just a moment. Water runs down his sleeves. “Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.”

Buck turns aside, dropping the silverware into the sink, his face screwed up in that frown he gets when he really does not understand. “I just don’t get why you’re being like this.”

“Like what?”

“Being no fun, for starters!”

Hen and Chimney are still polishing off their plates a dozen steps away. They lift their heads from their grilled potatoes and baked chicken to give Buck a quick glance over his outburst. “Dish duty isn’t supposed to be fun, Buckaroo.”

“Sure thing, Chim,” Buck calls back, before setting in on Eddie again. 

Eddie steps closer, continuing at a far more appropriate volume for such an inappropriate work conversation. “It isn’t about being fun, Buck—”

“It’s sex, Eddie. Of course it’s about _fun_. What else would it be about?”

Caution. Constraint. Control. Eddie doesn’t name them aloud, not with Buck’s eyes on him like that, shining like searchlights, seeing into the last places Eddie can hide even from himself.

“Then we have very different ideas of fun, Buck,” says Eddie, causing Buck to grimace. Eddie hates himself a little for putting the look on his face. “But thats okay,” Eddie adds. There’s suds all over his hands when he reaches over to grab Buck’s wrist from under the running water. He rubs his thumbs across the blue veins there. Buck shivers. “Unless what we’ve been up to the past couple weeks isn’t doing it for you anymore? Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Buck?”

“No, I just—” Buck looks torn. Eddie’s fingers trace a little higher along Buck’s forearm, over a pressure point and back. A little nothing bit of touch, but effective in shutting Buck up if Eddie did say so himself. He can practically see the latenight flashback replaying in Buck’s eyes; the shower, the couch, Eddie’s truck, the floor beside Buck’s bed because they didn’t quite make it. 

He’s sure won because by the time Buck shakes his head and snaps out of it, Eddie’s done at the sink and takes off to re-rack the hoses and tally the cleaning supplies.

* * *

“Where’s your partner?” the Captain asks, supervising Eddie running hose lines. Bobby flips through the pages of the clipboard Eddie hands off to him; all equipment integrity checks up to code standards. “We work in pairs for a reason.”

Eddie’s not buying it. “You mean reasons other than keeping him out of trouble?”

Bobby laughs and pulls out a pen to sign off on Eddie’s work. “I’d never assign you such a time-consuming unofficial task—”

“But someone’s gotta do it.”

The Captain nods.

Captain Nash’s soft spot for Buck was patently obvious to pretty much everyone. Well, everyone but Bobby and Buck. Even Chief Alonzo looked ready to tear his hair out over their father-and-son bickering on their worst days. The rest of the squad just accepted it for the most part; Hen with her fond and patient understanding and Chimney with his fond and exasperated understanding. Eddie however sometimes felt caught in the middle. Knowing Bobby trusted him to temper his partner’s wilder impulses was a source of pride; one muddied by all the personnel regulations Eddie and Buck broke on a nightly basis.

Not that Eddie felt guilty. It wasn’t like he had set out to start an after hours co-workers with benefits relationship with the firefighter his boss had elected himself the father off.

Everything with Buck just happened.

“Did my write-up about professional conduct sink into him at all?” Bobby asks.

“Probably not,” Eddie admits. It’s not the answer Bobby wants but it’s the best Eddie’s got. “You know Buck. If he helped the patient, the rest doesn’t matter to him at all.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Buck walks up, hands in his pockets. “Always glad to offer any care and or services that you two aren’t willing to provide.” 

From the pinched look Bobby gives them, he’s clearly decided that he’s not touching that one. If only for his heart health. He doesn’t notice or mention the way Buck’s touchy look linger a little too long on Eddie. He could be so damn obvious at times, it’s a wonder no one found them out yet. 

But the captain shakes his head and walks off, ordering them, “back to work, gentlemen. And Eddie? Keep him in line.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Buck asks, watching Bobby’s retreat to the back offices. Probably to file more Buck-related paperwork.

Eddie shrugs and drags Buck back to work.

* * *

Somehow the inside of the parked ladder truck is always the quietest place in the firehouse. Once the doors were closed all outside voices and movement slid off the sleek red siding. All any pair working inside could really hear was each other. Eddie usually found it relaxing, being able to pinpoint exactly where Buck was no matter if his back was turned and all they were up to was restocking the essentials. But now the same awareness meant he felt every aborted movement between them, every breath filling up the argument they were not having.

Eddie couldn’t remember the last time Buck had been this quiet for this long. Normally there wasn’t an assignment under the sun that Buck didn’t multitask through. Always chattering away about some thought or fascination. This though… Buck standing off a ways from him, focused and silent, tallying up the oxygen canisters and floodlights and thermal imaging cameras as if it were the most serious thing in the world. 

Eddie’s sure he can outlast Buck when it comes to stubbornness, at least long enough for the other shoe to drop, he’s not willing to pretend checking extinguisher expiration dates are really that interesting.

“Out with it, Buck.”

Buck idly pulls at safety labels on SCBA gear, taking his time as he mutters to himself; “I’m just wondering if you’ve always been this repressed.” 

“Really, Buck?” Eddie scoffs. “Repressed?” Eddie should remind him of evenings as recent as the night prior when he spent hours fucking Buck into his couch springs, and with gusto.

“Yeah, and how did I not notice until now? Since otherwise, I don’t get you!” 

“What’s not to get?”

“You’ve really never let anyone— do more? Try _more_?”

“Why are we still talking about this? How many sex gone wrong calls do we have to ride out on before you can accept that some things just dont belong in the bedroom?”

“Climb down off your high horse, Eddie! Nobody just decides for everyone.”

“I do.” Eddie knows it’s unfair to say, that it’s bullheaded and selfish but he can’t bring himself to care. “When it’s you and me, I decide.”

Buck doesn’t seem surprised. Just tired. “So you’re not even gonna hear me out?”

Eddie shrugs it off. “What’s there to hear?”

“How about everything, Ed?” Buck interrupts, fierce. “Everything that I want to tell you and everything I want you to tell me. Everything that I like, everything I want, everything I want to try with you? So we can, meet in the middle and, I don’t know, compare notes. And yeah, it sounds stupid and boring when you say it out loud but that’s what people do when they wanna be together!” 

He gesticulates with his hands that seem to have grown minds of their own, waving back and forth in the space between Eddie’s body and Buck’s. All trying to signal something held between them. Something without a name, without spoken intent. Something Eddie wouldn’t let himself linger on. But he felt Buck take it by its deepest wound. He held it down, pressing until it hurt.

“Look, I love _this_ part of us. The sex part. It’s good, it’s so good. I love that it’s been easy for us so far. We haven’t had to talk about it because we… _we fit together._ But there’s always more.” Eyes half lit with a hope, waiting to be understood, he takes Eddie by the wrist. “Sometimes _more_ means talking, or bedroom acrobatics, maybe a little danger, but Eddie we can—”

“No.” 

The word comes out harsh. Comes out angry when he shouldn’t be. All Buck has done is be honest. Honest about the things he wants and the things he deserves to have.

“You’re being a hypocrite.” Buck is hurt. He knows it by the shape of his mouth and that edge in his voice. “You’re pretending you’re some wilting flower—”

“wilting what?” Eddie tries to laugh — because he definitely heard that phrase from Chimney.

“—when we both know that you don’t have any problem taking things between us further when you’re the one who feels like it!”

Eddie shakes his head. “When has that ever—”

Before Eddie can react, Buck moves to whips off his black LAFD shirt. Eddie feels a cold surge of panic. He can’t cover the windows, he can’t cover Buck quick enough. But he only raises the hem up to his chest, granting Eddie and any audience who might look through the windows a clear view of his bare chest. Eddie rushes forward, to force Buck to stop, to cover himself— they agreed, never at the station, never on the clock, no matter what.

Grabbing Buck by his sides elicits a hiss. Too sharp, painful and obvious. Eddie looks down to where he’s touching Buck. His fingertips stretching cover dark impressions, all purpled over and perfect match to where his hands naturally fall on Buck’s flanks. Where his hands had been the night before, holding Buck down. On the couch, in the heat of it all, taking control.

He hadn’t even realized.

Buck lets his shirt fall back down to his waist. Eddie steps away. “There are other bruises on you, aren’t there?”

He groans. “You say that like it has to be a bad thing. It’s not.” Buck has the audacity to chuckle when Eddie wants to put his fist through a window. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I like it, you like it, so we can just—”

Something in Eddie crumbles.

“Except I don’t like it, Buck.”

All at once, Buck realizes his miscalculation. He reaches for Eddie’s sleeve, backpedalling. “It’s just sex, Eddie. Just sex. That’s all.” Buck repeats himself. “The bruises dont even hurt—”

“If this is what you want then,” Eddie half points to Buck’s chest and abdomen before pulling away. He turns around and speaks to the wall. “Then you should go find someone else.”

The cabin goes silent again. More silent than any air between the two of them has any right to be. Buck isn’t even breathing by the sound of it. All his energy sapped, his exuberance gone, he’s too still. The kind of still that Eddie’s only ever found in him in their most intimate moments, savored in that last gasp and the shared release when Buck held close to his chest, humming and happy. Still in completion, in anticipation for more.

Now he’s still in the way shattered glass is, calm and settled wreckage at their feet.

Then the moment passes, wordless and aching. The longest seconds of Eddie’s are over and Buck climbs out of the truck without looking back. Eddie smothers the need to follow him and picks up his clipboard. 

He gets back to work.

***

At end of shift, Buck checks in at that one bar Eddie hates over in West Hollywood. The one with the watered down drinks and the pay to play pool tables and no shortage of tourists making passes at the local regulars. Eddie knows he is there because he spent twenty minutes pacing his kitchen, trying to remember the passwords to his social media. He hardly ever used the accounts before but now he’s checking for updates constantly, half out of compulsion and half out of self punishment. 

None of it lessens the feeling of a fist around his throat of the tension headache from grinding his teeth. He was the one who told him to go looking. And at that bar, Buck is certainly swimming in volunteers by now.

He can’t blame Buck for any of it.

*

Except he can. He absolutely can blame Buck because when the sun had come up that morning, they had been fine. They had been more than fine, better than Eddie could have hoped. They had woken up together, Buck tucked under Eddie’s elbow and pawing at him for a morning quickie. They’d wasted so much time kissing and stroking each other before the alarms had gone off and Buck almost didn’t make it sneaking back to the couch for plausible deniability. Christopher had still been surprised to see his Buck at breakfast for the third time that week. They had skipped the usual cereal and toast for breakfast, instead demolishing a platter of omelettes and sausages courtesy of Chef Buckley who had taken it upon himself to personally stock the fridge. ‘All to better feed the Diaz boys the most important meal of the day’ he laughed, before promising Christopher that he would be there when his dad picked him up tomorrow from his overnight stay with his abuela.

In the span of twelve hours all that had fallen apart. All of it gone because Eddie refused to entertain one stupid, hare-brained idea in the bedroom. Because Buck couldn’t just let it go.

Buck posts pictures of himself with a row of drinks at the bar surrounded by onlookers and Eddie uninstalls every social media app off his phone. It’s that or he’ll break the damn thing against a wall. So instead he calls his abuela to hear how Christopher’s night is going. Asks a million questions, if he’s eaten enough and has everything he needs. His abuela is offended Eddie would even think her great-grandson even needs checking in on. She reams him out good with her sweet little voice and hangs up, telling him to go pester someone else.

Eddie will apologize in the morning. Really he just needs the distraction. To not think about calling Buck or driving across town to find Buck. About getting in Buck’s face and taking him home because he can’t let anyone else touch him. Not when the very thought of it makes Eddie spin out with his chest tight and leaves fists shaking.

He thinks about the bruises, too. He knows they can’t have been the first. Knows that they can’t have faded by now. Anyone who undresses Buck tonight will see them, but they won’t know that he was Eddie’s. 

It is the one thing that finally breaks him.

*

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Eddie chants angrily into the phone while it dials. “I swear, Buck if you don’t—”

“If I don’t what?” Buck answers. Eddie startles at the sound of his voice. He had honestly thought Buck wouldn’t answer. Was terrified that he was too busy, otherwise occupied to even hear the ringing. “Well, Eddie? Are you gonna say something or not?”

Eddie sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“What was that last part? You’re breaking up.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Buck.”

“Right,” he condescends, “because that’s your job.”

“Yeah, okay, I had that one coming,” Eddie admits, teeth gritted. “That and more. So why don’t you just pack it in and come over here so you can call me every name in the book?” It’s a selfish offer. Eddie would be the one with the most to gain from sheer relief alone. “Okay, just… don’t—”

“Don’t, what?”

Eddie curses under his breath. “You know what.”

“No, I don’t know what. I mean, I thought I _knew_ a lot of things about us. But as it turns out I’m an idiot for ever thinking we were on the same page. An idiot for trying to be honest about any part of our relationship when it’s clearly easier for you to stick your head in the sand. So no, Eddie, I don’t know you’re talking about unless you—”

“Don’t find anyone else!” Eddie shouts into the phone. “Don’t touch anyone else! Don’t go near them, don’t you even think about wanting them because I…” Eddie sucks in a shaking breath. It feels ridiculous, speaking over the phone like this. He should be there, where Buck is. Telling him all of this, pleading for forgiveness the right way. “I know what I said to you and I’m sorry. It was a bullshit thing to say and I didn’t mean it.”

Buck says nothing for so long that Eddie is horrified to think he’s hung up. But the on screen call timer keeps rolling, counting second after second.

“It hurt, Eddie.”

“I know, I know, I know. Just let me fix—” With a click, the call really does cut out.

There is no elegant way to roll with a body blow. The kind of shots that hit dead center to the solar plexus stun the body in a way. By rattling the diaphragm, organs are hit with such pressure that the lungs forgot just what they were for. Air gets forced out and all one is left with is chasing their own breath while standing still.

His fingers feel numb when he tries to hit the redial number.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Go away!” Eddie yells without a thought. 

He needs to get Buck back on the — “You told me to come over and yell at you, so I’m here to yell at you! Now open up the door!”

Eddie nearly takes the door off its hinges. Buck saunters in like nothing and hangs up his coat. He’s still wearing his night-out attire from the photos he posted. 

“You were here? You were here the whole time?”

“What? No. Not earlier. But I got sick of the bar and I was still pissed at you. I didn’t even think about driving over here but I did. By the time I parked the car, you called one second later. Seemed rude not to answer.”

Eddie may rip his own hair out. “Seriously, Buck?”

“What are you mad at me for? I’m not one who broke up with you!”

Eddie’s indignation deflates. “I’m sorry, let’s start over—”

Buck is already going, half a rage when he turns on Eddie, impatient. “Y’know, if someone had told me this morning we were going to ruin our entire relationship over a blowjob, I would have laughed my ass off.” Buck jabs a finger in his face. “Because who does that? Who breaks up with someone over a few bruises and _deepthroating_?”

“Me, apparently,” Eddie resigns. There’s a lump in his throat that is hard to talk around. A gritty feeling in the corner of his eyes. He wants to touch Buck but he knows better.

“ _‘Go find someone else.’_ ” Buck derides, throwing his hands in the air, “like that isn't fucking ridiculous ! If I had actually done it you’d be out of your mind over it! Because you Eddie? Literally nothing about you is built for an open relationship!”

Eddie’s shoulders sag. “I know, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“You are possessive and pushy and intense about everything! And normally I don’t hate that about you,” Buck chuckles darkly, refusing to look at Eddie mid-rant. “I wasn’t even mad today when you said you get to be the one who decides everything. I know I should have been, but I wasn’t. Part of me loves it when you’re bossing me around but you… You can’t be this far in the dark about us, Eddie.” 

Buck flops down on the couch, winded from his tirade. He holds his head in his hands, defeated. “I felt crazy today. Like actually _crazy_ , just from trying to talk to you. Like maybe I imagined it all? That you really didn’t want me the way I thought you did, when I was so sure that you—”

Eddie rushes forward. He’s on his knees in front of the couch, kissing Buck breathless. He does not let up until Buck turns his chin, baring his throat for Eddie’s lips, still gasping. “You’re not crazy,” he whispers against his earlobe. 

Eddie wants to dive back in, kiss him some more. Buck pulls back and stops him.

“See this is the problem,” he points out. “We’re skipping to the sex part when we need to be doing the talking part.”

“We can talk,” Eddie promises. “We can talk about anything… About how I’m an idiot and… and a control freak and repressed and all that other stuff.”

“You forgot, ‘in denial’,” Buck adds. “I think I just… I just need you to help me understand why, though? You barely cared when it came down to admitting you weren’t straight but when I point out that you like it a little rough? You shut down on me.”

Eddie hangs his head in remorse. He climbs up onto the couch, holding close to Buck, wanting to lessen his aggrievement. “I’m not like you, Buck.”

Buck makes a inarticulate noise of dissatisfaction.

“That’s not making excuses! I’m telling you the truth. Being honest about this stuff comes so naturally to you. For me, it’s harder… hard to the point where it feels _wrong_ to even ask you or want this.”

“But it isn’t wrong, it’s just you and me—”

“I know that!” Eddie insists, suddenly ashamed and more than a little scared. “I know that in my head, I just, I can’t always _feel_ it, Buck. I can’t feel it here,” Eddie points to his chest. “I try but I can’t let myself feel allowed to want what I want. Like it’s not who I’m supposed to be.”

Buck’s eyes go soft. The last hidden part of Eddie is revealed, the whole indecipherable mess on display. 

“So when I showed you the bruises today, that’s why you flipped out.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun,” Eddie scoffs, “realizing I’d been slipping up all this time.”

“Hey, I never complained. I never asked you to stop. Which means you didn’t do anything wrong.” Buck takes Eddie’s hands into his. “And this person you think you need to be, whoever the hell he is—”

“He’s probably the considerate, respectful gentleman my parents think they raised.”

“You can be both, Ed,” Buck consoles him, grinning like a fool. “I mean, you can still hold doors open for people and never let me buy dinner and walk closest to the curb and stuff. But you really should stop trying to give your seat to Hen anytime we run out of chairs in the firehouse just because she’s a woman. One of these days she is going to punch you.”

Eddie laughs, running his hand through Buck hair. He leans into the touch.

“You can do all of that, be the perfect gentlemen for the whole world and still like what you like when we get home. We’re not hurting anyone. And I need you to hear me when I say this. That you, Edmundo Diaz, could never, ever, ever be like that asshole we met on the call today. You’re not going to hurt me. Not unless we want to, and even then I know that you’re gonna take care of me.”

“What’d— How?” Eddie exhales. It felt like a million years ago, the call that started all of this. He had already forgotten their faces, but not all the energy spent trying to pry that poor kid away from the callous indifference of his bed-mate. He hadn’t even realized it but his emotions had been circling his better judgement ever since. Too afraid of what taking too much looked like.

And of course Buck figured it out before he did.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says again. A wave of guilt and gratitude crashes over it. He loves Buck but it shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t need him this badly to detangle the twists and knots in his head, in his chest. He should have this figured out by now. Him and all his hangups shouldn’t be Buck’s problem.

“Stop apologizing. And whatever spiral you’re starting,” Buck continues, knowingly, “we can hash it out tomorrow on the way to pick up Chris.”

And with that Buck bounces off the couch. He motions for Eddie to follow.

“Huh,” Eddie says, playing coy. “I didn’t realize we were done talking.”

“For now,” he grabs Eddie by the collar. “Because I think it’s time we go to the bedroom and I’ll show you what you’ve been missing. And don’t even think about arguing with me.”

* * *

They really are good at this. The sex part.

Everything between them unfolds with ease. From their mouths to their hands, to taking off each their clothes, to the way they’re warming and revving the other up. This part needed no discussion, no negotiation. Language would be useless in the midst of Buck’s urgent, pleading breaths.

Buck pushes at Eddie’s shoulders until he is sitting up against the headboard, back straight. In truth he wasn’t so used to being where Buck wanted him, waiting on him while he toyed with light touches and burning promises. But he had been through the wringer today, felt exhausted and starving in equal measure. Buck could have whatever he wanted.

Opening Eddie’s legs at his knees, Buck crawls up inch by inch. He spares a few strokes to Eddie’s dick. Lowering his head, he breathes hot, wet air over his nerves. His mouth is so close, Eddie can feel where Buck’s eyelashes skim over his skin. Nearly there —

Buck turns up and away in the last second, kissing a trail up Eddie’s abdomen. 

Eddie rolls his head back in frustration. He groans.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Buck says without an ounce of apology. “Did you think I was just gonna get it over with? After what you put me through? Because in case you forgot, you did tell me to go fuck other people. I’m so used to taking orders out of you that I almost did.”

Eddie growls.

“Almost,” Buck swears.

“Good,” Eddie says after a moment. He’s holding Buck by his biceps, refusing to let go. He can’t. Buck tilts up on reflex, kissing Eddie again. 

“There’s no one else I want,” he breathes into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie loves it, wants more of it, wants to pin Buck to the bed and make him say it a thousand times. Buck can sense it in him somehow. He smirks. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a possessive bastard?”

Eddie’s hands roam greedily. “I think I heard that somewhere.”

“Pushy, too,” Buck recalls when Eddie grabs his ass. “And what was that last one?”

“Think it was ‘intense about everything,’” Eddie says, “but I can’t be sure. Doesn’t sound like me at all.”

Buck chuckles into Eddie’s skin and uses both hands to grip Eddie. “You remember what I said before? That it’s a marathon, not a sprint. So keep that in mind when you’re grabbing my hair to make me swallow more. Take it slow and easy, alright?”

“I’m not gonna,” Eddie shakes his head. “I’ll keep my hands up here.”

Buck scoffs, pure disbelief. “Sure thing, Ed.”

With his fist at the base of Eddie’s dick, Buck works him slow from root to tip. He takes particular pleasure in those last few gasps before he finally lowers his face. Taking all he can into his mouth, Eddie hisses sharply, body hitched and tight. Buck is slippery, wet heat all around him and it’s good, it’s good, it’s always so good. He almost can’t stand it.

Eddie drags in air, hasty and shuddering. It’s not enough, never enough. Looking down from where his head lulls back, he sees he has one hand in Buck’s blonde hairs and another at the back of his throat. He doesn’t remember moving them.

Down from where Buck is bent low, mouth still taking in half of Eddie’s dick that can fit in his mouth, he turns his head to the side to make eye contact. When he winks at him, Eddie’s dick is poking against the inside of his cheek, pushing against his mouth in the most obscene manner.

“Fuck.”

“Now for the good part,” Buck promises. But before he goes back down Eddie tugs on his hair. He lifts his head in one fluid, yielding motion.

“You don’t hurt yourself on any part of me,” Eddie warns, “not without my permission.”

Buck nods, eyes glazed over with trust and lust and yeah, love when he sinks back, mouth open wider, lips over his teeth and swallowing to take Eddie further, take Eddie all the way. Buck doesn’t squirm or fidget when Eddie holds him still or when he nudges his hips up, trying to slip in further into the impossible sensation. His blood is on fire, pounding and pushing against his ear drums. It’s all he can hear, all he can feel. He can’t think, he can’t stop the noises he must be making. 

Buck’s fingers tap against Eddie’s wrists and wordlessly, he understands. He lifts Buck’s head and the sight of Buck sucking in air while still working his tongue over the slit of his dick. He doesn’t let up. He doesn’t let go. Doesn’t hesitate to swallow back down, taking Eddie into his throat again.

Eddie sets the pace with the hand on Buck’s throat. Follows the rhythm of his humming ministrations clench of muscles. He sees Buck has one arm braces against him and the other between his own legs, pulling on himself in time with the way Eddie is rocking in and out of his mouth, and Eddie’s a goner.

 _‘It’s just sex.’_ Buck had said, over and over, again and again. But it wasn't just anything. It was more. It was too much and still needing despite himself, all at once. Having Buck, his body and his trust and his hands with that mouth. It was everything.

“You’re so good for me baby, so good,” Eddie babbles, voice husky and harsh. “Do you know that? You’re perfect just like this.” Eddie brushes his thumb on the underside of Buck’s bottom lip. Buck returns with a mewling sound, muffled by the flesh in his mouth. “Wanna keep you like this. Right here, on my cock. Make you take me all night. Think you’d like that?”

If Buck could nod, he would. In place of that, he blinks hard and fast, tears in his eyes as he doubles his efforts rising and falling on Eddie. All of his precision and form is flagging, he can’t keep up with his own eagerness and Eddie’s urging at the same time. 

“Swallow harder, baby, you can do it for me—”

Release feels like such an afterthought Eddie almost forgets to warn Buck. Buck doesn’t mind, seems more aware of how close he is to edge than Eddie does. He ducks his head down and takes every last drop. The smallest drip sliding from the corner of his mouth. Eddie slides down the headboard. He can barely keep his head up.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he groans over and over into his pillow. Next to him, Buck laughs, delirious and proud. 

“Are you saying ‘fuck’ or ‘Buck’, because I—”

“Shut up,” Eddie hisses and spins them over. He tugs on Buck’s dick but only makes it to the three strokes and his back arches so beautifully that Eddie wants to come again, all over him, trace every bruise and leave a few more. He wants to do it on purpose, with the most ungentlemanly of touches, wants to push Buck open until he’s screaming.

But Buck curls against Eddie’s chest and he’s washed over with fatigue. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes.

* * *

“How’s your throat?” Eddie asks, later tangled up in the sheets. His whole body still feels boneless and heavy, but if Buck needs anything he will be on his feet in a second.

“Fine,” Buck croaks. His voice is audibly hoarse.

“How is it really?” he presses.

“A little sore. _A little!_ Nothing tea and lozenge couldn’t take care of.”

Eddie breathes easier. Content. 

“You have to tell me,” Eddie soothes. His hands slide down Buck’s abdomen, finding the familiar bruises on his flanks. “You have to tell me about every bruise, and mark, and ache, alright? I can be okay with it but I have to _know_.”

Buck mutters his response under his breath, words subdued and softened into the blankets. Eddie thinks he hears something like “control freak.” Eddie pulls on his hair ever so slightly, nails scratching through Buck’s scalp.

“What was that?”

“I said, I can live with that.” He smirks like he can’t resist and kisses Eddie hard. “Now can I show you where I’d like a few more aches?”

**_fin._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note #2:  
> This story was hell to write. I've never ridden an emotional roller-coaster like this one before and I feel like I should explain myself. 
> 
> While I love trying to write characters who fail to communicate and have to keep working at it, the murky subject matter of idiosyncratic hang-ups and imperfect sexual experiences was challenging. I understand it isn't everyone's cup of tea, the same as I understand that in real life these topics don't resolve themselves as neatly. 
> 
> But lately A LOT of fandom burn out has left me wanting a stories where sex, compatibility, safety and communication are things that are worked towards and _earned_. Not something achieved because the partnership is deemed so special and perfect from the start that they never have to work at anything. Nor are those things that can be disregarded or overwritten if one happens to find the pairing distasteful. I find that kind of idealization dangerous and toxic and hope more people and embrace the messy growing pains that exist between people who love each other.
> 
> So... I ended up banging my head against the wall inside of Eddie's headspace until this story fell out. I can only hope I came close to hitting the mark.
> 
> Thanks so for reading. Let me know if you enjoyed it.  
> Now excuse me, I have to go actually watch the s3 finale...
> 
> ***  
> tumblr: cypresssunn.tumblr.com


End file.
